Walking on Wasco in the rain

The earth, having had a little glass of something, looks so real this morning, though the small birds I usually enjoy this time of day have taken to the backstreets.

My feet come down on the pavement so differently here, taking back every step I walk, so that I get nowhere. The unknown toys with me as if I was a doll.

Is it better to say, "the puddles have stripes," or to take a picture of the striped puddles?

The Bernie signs have gone from color to black-and-white. Some of them hide in the rhododendrons, some in the lavender and lilac, some in the trees. Trees were once a great protection–we could hide in them from predators, under them we could take shelter–but now we need protection from ourselves.

Back home, the oranges are sliced. I eat them before they disappear.

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